


To be Director

by Blizza



Series: Sith!Tarkin gone wild [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Plot, Blonde!Krennic, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Krennic is a little shit, Krennic is also really slutty, Like a lot of dirty talk, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Sexual Tension, Sith!Tarkin, Tarkin has no chill, Tarkin is a Sith, Young!Krennic, i don't even know just read it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29696817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blizza/pseuds/Blizza
Summary: Lieutenant Commander Orson Krennic wants to be Director at all costs.Lord Wilhuff Tarkin likes the thought of having a pretty pet Commander all for himself.This was supposed to be a oneshot about Sith!Tarkin and Young!Krennic and it kinda got out of hand, so it's three chapters and even has something of a plot now.
Relationships: Orson Krennic/Wilhuff Tarkin
Series: Sith!Tarkin gone wild [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2182395
Kudos: 10





	To be Director

Travelling abord the Carrion Spike had always given Wilhuff Tarkin a strange sense of ease and peacefulness. Space was vast and he would never see every corner of the galaxy, but still the force connected him with all of it. Watching stars and planets pass by gave him a chance to relax, to meditate, to feel closer to the power lying within him. He would fight alongside Darth Vader, show his Master and Emperor that there was no stopping his young Empire. Nobody could stand up to the dark side and thus all the Jedi met their final demise. Tarkin struck down nine of them with his own hands.

All of it didn’t matter much right now with him being on his way to see to more boring, administrative problems. Sith or not, in essence he was still Governor of Eriadu. And as such, he had a say in high commands more down-to-earth affairs.

Mainly choosing a new Weapons Director, since the old one tragically passed last week. It was a sad accident, followed by an elaborate funeral service, a fitting end to a loyal man of the empire. Well, he hadn’t been all that loyal in the end, otherwise Tarkin wouldn’t have had to cut his head off. Not that anyone, but the poor doctors who had to stitch his head back on before they could toss the corpse into space, would ever know what happened. He had a heart attack at the young age of forty-seven, the documents said. Tarkin could still remember the gurgling sound the Director made when his throat was cut in half.

All that was unimportant for further proceedings. High command already made a list with suitable candidates, everyone had their favourites and some stake in them getting the position. Well, all but one.

One man by the name of Orson Callan Krennic had suggested none other than himself. Not to high command at that, but to Tarkin himself over his personal comm channel. Tarkin hadn’t figured out yet _how exactly_ Krennic had gotten his personal frequency or the audacity to actually message him, however he was well on his way to find out. And probably cut another head off, he thought to himself while closing a hand around the handle of his lightsaber. He was intrigued at least, even if it was just by the sheer impudence of the little Commander. They were to meet on board of the _Victorious_ , a Star Destroyer chosen by Krennic. It would be easier than for Tarkin to travel to Coruscant, he wrote. Tarkin should’ve ordered him to Eriadu, yet he gave in.

The _Victorious_ wasn’t a pretty ship, by any means. One of the older, clunkier models, belonging to some Moff who Tarkin had forgotten the name off as soon as he stepped away. He had been utterly scared for his life when Tarkin arrived. So much he could _taste_ it. He loved the effect he had, the wide-blown pupils of the military staff who saw him, the aura of dread surrounding him everywhere he went. The dark side fed on their fear and Tarkin only felt more powerful in the chaos of battle, blood on his clothes and lightsaber in his hand.

Orson Krennic, he soon found out, was a completely different kind of man. When the door to the room he was meant to meet Krennic in – which coincidentally had been somewhere deep in the backend of the ship – slid open, he was suddenly face-to-face with everything he had _not_ expected.

Krennic was young, blonde, undeniably attractive and shot him a smile that was sure to melt some innocent girl’s heart at military academy. He was also, Tarkin noticed, quite a bit smaller than him. Something about that made him hold his breath for a second. “Oh, you’re early! I didn’t quite have the time to get dressed yet, I’m terribly sorry”, Krennic laughed, a sound which made his whole body shake a bit. It was a lie and Tarkin felt it, he didn’t need the force to tell him that. At the same time, Tarkin knew that Krennic wasn’t trying to fool him anyways. “Do come in, my Lord! It is an honor to meet you. I didn’t actually think you’d come.”

“It’s Governor”, he shot back, words somehow getting stuck in his throat.

Another man would’ve flinched and apologized in fear for his life, but Krennic was special. His cheeky smile didn’t disappear for a second, his hand gliding through his blond hair once to disassemble it even more than before. “Sure, Governor Tarkin. I should’ve guessed that one myself. They say you’re quite the stern military man at heart, you know? Where are my manners, come inside. We’ve a lot to talk about!”

Tarkin watched him move to the side with one elegant step. Krennic wasn’t wearing any shoes. To be exact, he wasn’t in uniform at all, instead being dressed in some kind of silken, crème-white robe, which had already slipped down his left shoulder, exposing the slightly freckled skin underneath. Krennic fixed it quickly, shoving the material back up while holding Tarkin’s gaze with knowing playfulness.

That was quite the turn of expected events indeed.

Krennic made his way through the room without a care in the world, only looking over his shoulder once to see if Tarkin was following. Not only was Krennic in a robe, this also wasn’t an office. These were personal quarters. “What would you like to drink?”, the Commander yelled back from the other side of the room, “wine? Champagne? Whisky? Wait, do Sith drink alcohol or is that against some code? I don’t have anything else at hand, Governor.”

Tarkin didn’t answer. He needed a moment to gather himself, get on top of this bizarre, little game he walked into. He couldn’t even fathom to understand what Krennic was thinking of achieving with his unconventional plot. There were a lot of things Tarkin had experienced in his lifetime, but none of them had ever taken him this far aback. This man had invited one of the galaxy’s most feared entities into his _personal room_ in a _robe_ and offered him _a drink_. He would’ve laughed if that was a thing he did. Instead, he finally stepped inside fully, doors closing shut behind him. Tarkin made his way to the wingchair in the middle of the room and just sat down, watching Krennic kneel in front of the liquor cabinet and scanning the various bottles. “Whisky is fine”, he answered.

“I knew you would be a whisky-kind of man. Good choice”, Krennic mumbled, while pulling out the wanted bottle of brown liquid from the cabinet.

That was the moment Tarkin decided to just play along. There was not much fun to be had in his life, barring the thrill of war itself, so this was just a bit too perfect to turn down. The more he let himself be lulled in, the more he gave Krennic a sense of control, the sweeter it would be to see him run head-first against a wall when he finally noticed that Tarkin wouldn’t give in to a fool like him. Nothing was more thrilling to him than watching a man who was sure of his victory fail one step before his goal, smug confidence turning into fear for their life when Tarkin strangled it out of them slowly and painfully.

Tarkin imagined Krennic would look quite attractive while gasping for his last, saving breath. Maybe he would even do it with his bare hands for him. Feeling his throat clutch under his fingers, his pulse grow rapid and his fingers dig into Tarkin’s wrists in an attempt to free himself. No, for Krennic he wouldn’t use the force. He was too pretty to waste like that.

The loud sound of a glass hitting the table in front of him made him snap back into reality. He crossed his legs in a quick attempt to hide his probably very apparent erection, but judging from Krennic’s sultry glance, he had already noticed. If the little Commander only knew what was coming for him, he wouldn’t be smiling anymore. For now, he could have his triumph. Krennic hopped onto the couch on the other side of the table, cross-legged position making his robe slide down his long legs. Tarkin let his glass fly into his hand with the force, only to impress. It seemed to work well enough, Krennics tongue darting out to lick his lower lip. “Orson, is it? We’ve never met before. You’re a Commander, right?”

“Lieutenant Commander”, Krennic corrected with a hint of pink on his cheeks, “I had to lie a bit, didn’t I? My chance to actually get you to come here was very slim, so I made some alterations to my track record. I hope you understand, Governor. Also, please…”

He stopped dead in his tracks, only continuing because of Tarkin’s questioning face. “I prefer Callan, Sir. Orson brings back…unpleasant memories.”

“Callan it is then.”

“Thank you.” Krennic had sounded completely genuine for just a moment, before reminding himself of what Tarkin could only imagine was his _mission_. He wanted to seduce Tarkin into making him Director, that much was apparent, yet Tarkin still wondered who in his right mind would believe such a task as possible. Who was Krennic to think he could pull it off? He had the looks; however, he didn’t seem dumb enough to think that looks would suffice. There was a joker up Krennic’s sleeve and Tarkin was dying to find out what it was going to be. Krennic took his glass of wine to his lips and drowned it at one swallow. Oh, this would be quite interesting indeed.

“I know you probably are planning on how to murder me for this by now, but hear me out, Sir”, Krennic eventually continued, “I have a good, no, a _fantastic_ reason to want this position. So fantastic it could even rival you, Governor. I’m talking about a weapon.”

“You wrote me you were an architect”, Tarkin reminded himself while rolling around the whisky in his glass. Krennic’s feelings where intoxicating to listen to. There was no fear, somehow, but he was tense. His mind passed thousands of thoughts around, none staying long enough for Tarkin to decipher, but every single one oriented towards one goal: _Winning_. As tense as his spirit was, as slack was his body. The Commander – Lieutenant Commander, as he disclosed – was leaning forward enough for Tarkin to see under his robe down his narrow chest, rising and falling with every breath. Krennic was a conjunction of opposites and something about it made him awfully intriguing.

“I am, yes. I was quite surprised you never heard of me, actually. I’m rather famous in Coruscant.”

“For being a ladies man, I presume?”, Tarkin asked with the hint of a joke hidden somewhere.

“Oh, no!”, Krennic chuckled delightfully, resting his head in his one hand and drawing circles on the table with the other, “I don’t do ladies. I blame you for that actually, Governor.” Tarkin set his glass down and shook his head slightly. Force-user or not, some things even he couldn’t read. Krennic looked quite amused by his baffled expression and poured himself a second glass of wine. He took another long sip before taking on Tarkin’s silent question.

“I was in republic military training like everybody else. I think I was seventeen when you were called in to brief us on something. You just became Captain back then. Well, suffice to say, I didn’t pay much attention to you”, he began explaining, “you noticed, to say the least. Probably had something to do with you being a hidden Sith and all. Well, whatever it was, you just _fucking grabbed_ me. Like this.”

Krennic reached over the table for his arm and Tarkin supressed the urge to pull away, letting Krennic put his hand on his chin. Something in Tarkin got lost in this very moment and let his fingers close shut around the Commander’s jaw. “Yes. Like that”, he sighed and grabbed Tarkin’s wrist in return in an attempt to push him away again. Tarkin didn’t budge. They stayed.

“I think I fell in love that day. At least until I learned that getting a hard-on from being manhandled by older, more powerful men wasn’t exactly _love_. Getting my fucking heart broken later in life also helped, I guess.”

Tarkin pushed him back onto the sofa with more force than necessary, watching him shuffle into a sitting position with a little groan. “I could indulge you”, he answered without even thinking about it, his mind boiling with various ways in which he could break Krennic, because he just seemed so _fragile_. Passion fed the force like gasoline fed fire and he could feel his insides burning up at the thought. Maybe, just maybe, this thought turned him on even more than the imagination of strangling Krennic in cold blood. For a moment he didn’t even remember what he was here for. What he had planned. Everything inside of him screamed to just _take_ Krennic like he clearly asked to be.

“Well, I’ll have to tell you about my weapon first, don’t I? It would really hurt my ego to sleep myself to the top when I have the invention that will bring the Empire to glory on hand”, Krennic replied, smile as sweet as honey back on his pretty face. Every thought Tarkin had wasted on fucking him senseless was back to stabbing him with his lightsaber. Krennic got onto his feet quick and quiet like a cat, grabbing a roll of paper from a atop a drawer next to the liquor cabinet. He stole Tarkin’s glass, setting it aside on the floor and tossed the paper onto the table in one fluid motion. It was some kind of plan, Tarkin figured. To be exact, it looked like what he imagined architectural sheets to be. Just that there wasn’t a building, but some kind of metal planet drawn on them.

“I call it the _Death Star_. It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it? Made for destruction. You inspired me, Governor. It’s a beast like you, cruel, unforgiving, terrifying. But it has one big advantage over you, Sir…it isn’t human. It can’t _feel_. It just destroys.”

Tarkin stayed silent in his thoughts. “I’ve had someone do research into the properties of synthetic Kyber and its ability to convert energy from one state into another, much like that lasersword of yours.”

“It’s called a lightsaber”, Tarkin objected, cringing slightly at the reminder of how little the Empire’s men knew about the Sith and their ways.

“Yes. _Lightsaber._ Whatever”, Krennic waved him off, completely entranced in by his weapon-plans. “It does the same thing. Converts energy into a laser. Just bigger, in fact big enough to blow up planets. This is the peak of architecture, Governor. It’s not simply a building, nor only a weapon, it’s both. Getting the chance to build it is all I want and I need to be Director for that. I need to show _Galen_ that-“

Tarkin raised his left hand to make Krennic’s mouth close shut in that exact moment. There was a change in the Commander’s ramblings. He went from feeling patriotic, maniacal passion to being haunted by remorse and poisonous envy in the bat of an eye. Not many times, Tarkin recollected, he had felt another human be quite as _torn._ The realization that Krennic was compensation for something or rather _someone_ with his grandiose planet-destroying weapon made him look weaker. Less sure of himself. Less of a threat to Tarkin. He had found an opening to exploit and abuse, like he did with every other man. Krennic wasn’t special like he wanted to make him believe, he was broken and determined to fix himself at whatever cost.

“There is no place for personal vendettas for a position like the one you’re aiming for, Callan my dear. You waste my precious time with your petty revenge plot wrapped up as some world-changing weapon. Try aiming lower, little Commander. And don’t ever think you can stand up to me again.”

Feeling a sudden surge of power flow through him, he cemented his force-grip on Krennic’s body and pushed him down on the floor, his legs magically giving in under his body and his breath getting stuck in his lungs. He came farther than most, Tarkin gave him that, but in the end they all collapsed. Hundreds of smarter, more experienced men hat tried to outplay him, use him to their advantage. None of them were alive at this point in time. Krennic wouldn’t be either, he mused, fingers closing around the handle of his saber. Slowly, he had to remind himself as he approached Krennic’s kneeling frame. He wanted to enjoy this one fully, for what he had to put up with.

“Spare me the show”, Krennic suddenly snapped. Tarkin couldn’t quite tell how he found his voice again, just that it was full of underlying contempt. “Just do it then. If it turns you on that much. I’ll be sure to look pretty for you when I choke on my own blood.”

Tarkin let go. Swiftly, Krennic was back on his feet, walking away from Tarkin with his back turned to the wall. Once more, Tarkin dared to look into Krennic’s head and once more, he found no fear. He was looking death itself right in the eyes and all the other man felt was frustration.

“That would be a waste”, Tarkin decided, gaining control over his victim’s body once more, this time pulling him towards himself as he sat back down on the wingchair. Krennic was a fascinating case, in all honesty. Not afraid from death, but so much of _failure_. The force told him to leave Krennic alive. To study him. No, to _own_ him.

As Krennic was close enough to him, Tarkin switched his grip to a physical one, drawing the smaller man onto his lap. There was no resistance, instead Krennic grabbed back, burying his fingers into the fabric of Tarkin’s black robe. His smile was back when they looked at each other, Krennic being sure of himself and his position again. Apparently, being in another man’s lap made him feel more confident than having to explain his personal problems.

“Alright, let’s do it your way then. I’ll be your pet. I’ll do everything you want. Just. Make. Me. Director. You won’t hear any complaints from me after that, Wilhuff”, Krennic whispered hot against his ear, fingers digging in deeper. He should’ve killed him for using his name alone. However, at this point, he should’ve killed him for so many things already. Fact was that he didn’t want to.

Krennic started grinding against him in trained precision, his breaths at Tarkin's ear turning more ragged by the second. There was no denying that he had some personal interest in this, begging for a promotion exempt, and Tarkin surely would’ve mocked another man for exactly that. With Krennic, he found it strangely endearing, letting his hand slip down to hold his ass as he was going at it with unexpected fervor. There was no denying that he liked it, that much was certain. Tarkin couldn’t even tell if he was hard again or hard _still._

“You’re a slut, little Commander”, Tarkin murmured back, earning himself a needy moan from Krennic. That worked for him. To be exact, all of this worked for him. He was absolutely certain indeed that he would’ve torn Krennic’s robe of and bent him over the sofa, was he in any other situation.

Sadly, this was different. This was a power struggle and somehow this witching minx of a man was winning again.

“I’m not doing it all for the promotion, Governor. I was imagining this quite a lot, if I’m honest”, Krennic sighed, stilling his motions and instead beginning to palm Tarkin through his pants. Krennic's face was pink, his eyes glassy and his smile utterly dirty. “Having sex with a Sith is on my bucket list, let’s say. You, preferably.”

“I could tear you apart without moving a finger”, Tarkin shot back, the pleasant sensation of Krennics hand on his crotch shooting up his spine. He wasn’t intimate too often, finding no interest in most men or women that surrounded him. Krennic made him remember how much lust fed the dark side, how much power there was in passion. The force screamed at him to give in and finally claim his willing price, but he was versed enough to not give in to his primal desires this easily, for he knew how much more _power_ there was in waiting and planning before he _took_ at the right moment.

Krennic didn’t know any of that, but he would without a doubt be a matchless vessel for Tarkin’s desires. “Shit, make me beg for it, please”, Krennic moaned, hips starting to grind against Tarkin’s legs again, “I want you to _wreck_ me, Tarkin.”

He had to stop it there. One of his hands found Krennic throat and closed around it, tearing him off his lap with absolute ease and pressing him against the sofa instead. Krennic gasped in shock, while Tarkin just closed his second hand around his windpipe and dug his thumbs deep into the white flesh. Just as Tarkin imagined, Krennic struggled, pushing and kicking for a moment, before going completely limp. He wasn’t dumb enough to waste his breath. In his eyes, Tarkin found something much deeper, much more depraved. Krennic still wasn’t afraid, but this undeniably _turned him on_.

“Listen to me”, Tarkin started calmly, “there is nothing I’d rather do then bend you over that couch and make you scream my name through the halls of this rusty heap of a ship for everyone to hear, but you’ll have to _see_ first.”

Krennic tried to take another breath, panic and lust blending on his face as he noticed that he couldn’t. Tarkin knew exactly how long it would take for him to die. “You think you’re not afraid of death. Not afraid of me. But you haven’t _seen_ yet. I’ll show you that I am another kind of force, one that no machine of yours can ever rival. After that, I’ll make you mine.”

He let go when he saw blood running out of Krennic’s nose. It was unimaginably beautiful, Tarkin noted. Krennic chocked for air, rolling onto his belly and burying his head in the soft sofa cushions. “Fuck”, he gasped after just laying there for a while, “whatever you fucking want. Just…make me Director.”

Tarkin actually smiled as he turned to leave the room. How could he not? After all, seeing Krennic sit on his couch, blood running down his nose, neck completely red and robe slipping down one shoulder again made for a rather stunning picture.

Oh, how he would show him the power of a true Sith.

-

The next day, Tarkin’s shuttle docked in the outskirts of Coruscant. There were already seven other ships present, their occupying troops scattered around the area to scout for any dangers. It was a simple mission really, just a rouge gang trying to block some minor supply lines to the Empire. Nothing Tarkin needed to get involved in and certainly nothing Callan Krennic had to bother with.

Still, Tarkin found him on a bench in the cargo hold of one of the shuttles, polishing his blaster without noticing Tarkin coming in. “I hope you can shoot”, Tarkin teased with badly hidden derision. Krennic looked different without his robe, yet his white uniform still stood out between the Stormtroopers and present command. He was here, because Tarkin had ordered him. And Tarkin himself was here to kill.

“I wasn’t too bad at academy. Haven’t done it in a while though. But I’ll probably be fine with a doting Sith on my side”, the little Commander replied, carefully clicking the barrel of his blaster into place.

“Were did you find that? It’s not standard for all I know”, Tarkin remarked, pointing to the black pistol-style blaster in Krennic’s hand.

“It’s an antique. I quite like those. It does its job nonetheless.” Krennic was taller with his shoes on and his posture was considerably stiffer. All in all, he seemed far more distant then he had been last night. A part of Tarkin still wished he had jumped him then and there, tearing the irritating robe off him and making him his. However, he let the force guide him only as far as his mind allowed. Tarkin wanted to stay his own master at all cost, unbound from the force’s dark will. Bringing Krennic here was only for him, only to show him a display of power cruel enough to make even him cower in fear.

For all Tarkin knew right now, Krennic looked mostly bored.

“I’ve always thought Sith hunted lost Jedi or fought ancient monsters. Aren’t some spice-dealing petty criminals from the Coruscant slums beneath you, Governor?”, Krennic inquired with a bit of sass in his voice. The little shit must’ve already figured out that this was all to impress him. Well, not that Tarkin hadn’t told him already yesterday, he remembered with a hint of shame.

“I know how to strengthen morale, Lieutenant Commander. Being present for small operations goes a long way.”

“Right”, Krennic yawned, trying his best to supress it.

“Tired?”

“Well, you left me in quite a state yesterday, Sir. Taking care of that…took a while”, Krennic shot back with a grin, making Tarkin’s mind come up with countless images of Krennic pleasuring himself in frustration after Tarkin left. “No, seriously, my nose wouldn’t stop bleeding, it was really awful.”

Tarkin forced himself to not chuckle, instead watching Krennic get up and pace towards him slowly and cautiously like a cat. He stopped mere inches before Tarkin, his breath hot on Tarkin’s chin. “Look, I believe you fully that you are a big, scary killer of a man. Let’s just get over the boasting and do something more…fun.”

“Killing scum is quite fun for me”, Tarkin replied, not backing away, “and you really should be more careful, Callan. I find you rather amusing, tantalizing really. But I have my boundaries and you’re close to overstepping them.”

“Can we kiss?”, Krennic asked, nearly inaudible. He looked up at Tarkin with big eyes, doing nothing to hide both his excitement and that bit of shame that accompanied it. He hadn’t listened, of course, and if he did, he merely didn’t care. Every bit of Callan Krennic was infuriating, were he any other men, he would’ve long been dead. Yet here Tarkin was, and all he could think of was the urge to lock their lips. Krennic had to be some kind of ploy to test his patience and endurance – his _will_ really.

“Sir?”, someone called, tangible fear in their voice. Krennic didn’t step back and Tarkin definitely wouldn’t, so he just pushed Krennic aside with a little help of the force. He followed Troup-Command out of the cargo hold, back into the stifling Coruscant slums. They smelled nearly as bad as they looked, makeshift homes and beggars on every corner making for a depressing picture. Tarkin couldn’t care less really. He focused on the task at hand – slaughtering lowlife criminals with his lightsaber. Indeed, he was glad to be outside again, away from administrative duties, meditating and trying to build and Empire. This wouldn’t be as thrilling as murdering Jedi alongside Clone-Troopers in the wake of order 66, but it was more action than the last months for sure.

“I don’t need backup. He’s coming with me”, Tarkin explained while gesturing to the shuttle that Krennic just came out of. That was all it took for Command to leave him alone, Tarkin nearly being able to taste their relief through the force. “Don’t ever leave my side”, Tarkin instructed Krennic before making his way into the narrow, underground alleys of Coruscant’s most dangerous parts.

It was exhausting to feel through the force down here. Not only was the stuffy air making his head hurt, there were also people everywhere. Just reaching out slightly made Tarkin expose himself to an explosive mixture of feelings and thoughts he could never trace back to one person. There was so much misery, hatred and fear that he had to pull back instantly. He was out of practice, if he was completely honest with himself. Maybe it wasn’t bad to come here after all, even when disregarding his need to make Krennic submit his body and mind to him completely.

Yes, Tarkin probably needed some hands-on combat and force usage to set himself straight.

Krennic on the other hand looked less tired now, his blue eyes darting from corner to corner in well-trained military fashion. He had his blaster holstered, but one hand was ready to reach for it at all times. “Halt!”, Tarkin hissed, stopping Krennic behind him mid-motion. It only took one small pull with the force to rip the shadow he’d seen in the edge of his view from its hideout. The burly man’s mind was so laser-focused on his escape plan, Tarkin had no issue seeing it in front of him as lively as if it was his own. They dealer wanted to hide, then run and tell his allies to flee. To flee like scared rabbits, because there was a Sith Lord and he was no doubt hunting them.

Tarkin snapped his neck with the force.

“They’re hiding on the roofs. Not down here. It’s a distraction for them to get away before we catch them”, Tarkin muttered, while already turning around and walking back outside with huge steps. Krennic followed him in a light jog, his confusion visible on his young face.

“I’m not asking how you got all of that out of him, but the roofs sound like an awful place to fight!”

There it was, hitting Tarkin like a whip. Fear. Krennic was afraid. But not of him. “You’re scared of heights?”, Tarkin asked, stopping dead in his tracks and giving Krennic a questioning look.

“Look, I know its dumb, it’s just…yes, Sir”, Krennic mumbled, cheeks pink and gaze eluding Tarkin’s face.

“Well”, he said with the hint of a smile, “seems like you’re not so cold and collected after all, little Commander. I’ll make it up to you. It will be quite the show. Come on now, move.”

He made sure Krennic stayed right behind him while running out of the underground city, scanning the area not with his eyes, but with the force alone. Nothing could elude him now, he felt like a predator hunting his unknowing prey. Which made Krennic the potential mate waiting to be impressed by Tarkin’s superior abilities and power. Maybe he’d have to overthink his analogy later, right now there was next to no time. Outside, he met back up with the ground troops who, at this point, also knew they were being mislead and were busy with grouping up and making new plans.

“They’re up on the roofs”, Tarkin explained hastily and pointed in the general direction of the criminals base, “surround that building over there and try to cut off obvious escape routes. I’m taking one of the shuttles myself. Lieutenant Commander, move.”

Krennic was good at following orders in more dire situations at least, sticking to Tarkin like a dog to its owner. “Can you fly?”, Tarkin probed as they entered the cockpit.

“Yes”, Krennic replied next to breathless, “I’ve never piloted one of these before, I guess, but I can manage.” Tarkin didn’t need to ask twice for Krennic to take a seat behind the control panel, flicking various switches before hoisting the shuttle into the air without much difficulty. Were it another time, Tarkin would’ve asked him why an architect from Coruscant could fly a ship like this one, however he didn’t want to ruin the thrill of a nearing battle with some half-boring tea-time talk.

“I want you to get me above the yellow building. I’ll jump.”

“You’ll jump out of the ship?!”, Krennic barked back, suddenly sounding much more panicked than comfortable.

“I’ll jump out, prevent them from leaving and wreck some havoc, so you and the troops can land up there without getting blasted. It’s rather simple, really”, he laid out his plans nonchalantly, watching all color drain from Krennic’s face. He was properly afraid now. Afraid to fail, afraid to die. Tarkin reached his goal in the end, but it wasn’t as entertaining as he thought it would be, in all honesty. It didn’t feel earned in a fair way, really. He tossed his little Commander in an uncomfortable situation most would’ve backed out of much sooner. Krennic’s hands were visibly shaking as he grabbed the steering system tighter, maneuvering them through the Coruscant traffic as quickly as possible.

“Stay calm”, Tarkin whispered, stepping behind the other man and slipping his hand into his soft, blonde hair. It didn’t take much for him to connect with Krennic’s mind through the force. Yet when slipping inside, he found himself lost.

Krennic’s thoughts were so different from his own that he couldn’t even explain it properly. They were wild, traveling between dozens of places so fast that Tarkin couldn’t keep up. His hand slid down, caressing Krennic’s forehead with knowing precision. “Stay calm. Focus”, he commanded once again. He felt like lighting hit him as everything snapped into place.

Krennic was younger here, much younger, holding hands with another boy. Galen Erso, Krennic remembered and through him, Tarkin did as well. Krennic wanted to show Erso what he learned, that he could fly his father’s shuttle now, after being close to crashing it the day before. Young Krennic was quite proud of himself, figuring out all the switches and modes with just reading and simply trying them out. It was all to impress Erso, of course, Krennic hated flying. Krennic was scared of heights.

“You learned it for Erso”, Tarkin reminded Krennic, gently massaging his brow. “To impress him. Go impress me as well, Callan.”

Krennic’s movements were mechanical, his eyes were glazed. He wasn’t here, really, Tarkin made sure to keep him in his head. Back there with Galen Erso, back where he was happy to fly, where he was proud to _show off_. Slowly, but practiced, the Commander hosted the shuttle upwards, buildings disappearing beneath them. Here and there, Tarkin helped, simply pushing aside upcoming traffic with the force or steering them slightly in the right direction. In the end, Krennic managed to get them into the right spot. He would’ve collapsed onto the control panel upon Tarkin leaving his mind, but Tarkin held Krennic's head tightly against himself to keep him steady.

“You did well”, Tarkin praised, taking another brief moment to stroke through Krennic’s hair.

“How did we get up here?”, he asked, panic still prevalent in his voice, but nearly drowned out by pure confusion. “I can’t _remember_ …”

“It doesn’t matter now. You can land this shuttle. Do it in ten minutes.”

“I can land this shuttle and I will do it in ten minutes”, Krennic repeated of little own volition. Tarkin made sure he wouldn’t kill himself or, by extension, Tarkin. Then, he forced the shuttles loading ramp open mid-air and jumped out.

A fall like this made him feel trapped between unchallenged freedom and death itself. He intercepted his fall with the force, his impact sending an unseen shockwave over the roof and ripping all close bystanders off their feet. He ignited his lightsaber in an instant, blocking two blaster shots, before cutting the man firing them in half. There was screaming in the distance, footsteps and yelled orders, some of them clearly from Tarkin’s own men, others coming from the enemy.

He sliced through three more men without much trouble, carving a bloody path for the Troopers following suit. These were surprisingly well organized criminals, but no match against a Sith. They made their money by bribery and stealing, not by fighting. While making his way through countless stacked boxes and small cargo-ships, he lost his track. The roofs were like a city all by their own, houses made out of old boxes and metal, tents standing between them and tarp blocking out the light from above. It all felt like a labyrinth. This wasn’t just a base, these people lived here. What Tarkin had killed were just the guards, whoever was in charge must’ve been so deep inside that they had all the time they needed to escape.

Tarkin tried to sense his way through the endless passageways, but he couldn’t find anything. He also didn’t hear the person creeping up from behind.

With an ear-piercing scream, someone jumped him, using the small moment of shock to wrestle Tarkin’s lightsaber off him. It only took a second for Tarkin to notice that whoever was attacking him, was force-sensitive. He tossed the stranger off with one hard push of the force, sending them to crash into one of the scrap-metal walls surrounding them. His attacker was a woman, a Togruta woman to be exact, and she held his lightsaber in steady hands, threatening him with the red glowing blade. Tarkin tried to pull it back to him with the force, naturally, but the woman didn’t give in. How could he not have sensed her earlier?

“Leave. Now. We have your men surrounded. You will make it out, they won’t”, she told him, voice raspy and broken from years of shouting or smoking. This had just turned from a routine check-up with Coruscant’s numerous crime lords to something far more interesting. “You’re not Darth Vader. You’re the one they hid in plain sight. The military man that was a monster all along.”

“Spare me the babbling and surrender. You won’t make it out alive”, Tarkin scolded, taking a confident step forward. There were many runaway Jedi who made it out of Order 66 alive. He was used to hunting them down and killing them. This wasn’t a challenge for him.

It had not been until Krennic rounded the corner and was hoisted up into the air in an instant, grasping his throat in shock. Tarkin would’ve loved to strangle him on his own again. The Togruta doing it for him was far less pleasurable than doing it himself. “He belongs to you. I’ll kill him. Leave”, she told him again, Krennic helplessly struggling in her invisible grasp. Tarkin looked up at him and found Krennic staring back, then flicking his eyes over to the floor beneath him and back to Tarkin.

He must’ve somehow loosened his damn blaster, because it was lying right there on the floor. It flew into Tarkin’s hand in a split second and he shot at the woman as soon as he had his fingers on the trigger. His aim was way off, but it was enough to make her jump out of the way, lose her focus and let Krennic fall onto the concrete floor. Tarkin caught him with the force before he could crack his head open and die. At least the little Commander was quick on his feet, closing the distance between him and Tarkin and choosing to just hide behind him like a child behind his father. Tarkin didn’t waste any time and fired another shot, aiming for the head this time.

Well, he would’ve fired another shot, if Krennic’s blaster would’ve let him.

“It only has one shot!”, Krennic screamed, barely jumping out of the way when the Togruta charged both of them with Tarkin’s lightsaber. Once more, he tried to pull it out of her hands, once more, she resisted him.

“WHAT?!”, he yelled at Krennic, who had pressed his back against one of the large boxes and fumbled with something on his belt, while the woman charged Tarkin with another battle-ready scream, her intention to kill clear in her eyes.

“It’s an antique, I told you!” Tarkin thought about leaving at that exact moment and he probably _would_ have left, if it wasn’t for the alien trying to chop his head off. She was stronger with the force than he had previously thought. Or maybe he was just a bit rusty. If It was just him, the stakes would’ve been lower, but Krennic was about as useless as a Nexu in hyperspace. Barring the fact that he actually carried a blaster with _one shot_.

_Toss it to me!_ , he heard a voice in his head, clearly belonging to Krennic. The man was at least smart enough to use the fact that Tarkin could definitely read his thoughts. Well, at least that was the version Krennic came up with right now. Tarkin dodged his lightsaber once more, the woman getting more precise with every hit and, hopefully unseen, he slid the blaster over the floor, back into Krennic’s grasp.

The shot came only a second before his own blade would've pierced through his head. He allowed himself shaky breath, instantly getting a hold of his weapon and cutting the woman’s head off with one brutal blow. She had already been dead – Krennic had shot her straight though the right eye.

“I told you I’m not a bad shot”, Krennic laughed, stressed but clearly proud of himself. When Tarkin turned around to face him, the smile on his face disappeared in an instant. He tried to run, but Tarkin took a hold of his body through the force and pushed him against one of the metal plates. As soon as he closed the distance between them, he gripped Krennic by the neck. “You nearly got me _killed_. Why the _fuck_ do you carry a blaster with only _one fucking shot_?”

Tarkin wasn’t one to curse, normally, but he hadn’t been this angry in the whole latter half of his life. “I thought you were bluffing; I didn’t know that we would actually…”

Tarkin kissed him with nearly brutal force, even if it was just to make him shut up. Krennic all but melted into him, completely giving up any struggle and any thought of talking himself out of this. He wasn’t dumb enough to fight a battle he couldn’t win. The little rat only knew backstabbing or poisoning someones drink. “I want to _murder_ you so badly”, Tarkin whispered when he broke the kiss.

“But you won’t because you _want_ me”, Krennic gasped, biting his lip in a half-assed attempt to look seductive.

“I want to _break_ you. That’s different, believe me. I will make you my little pet. And maybe, when you finally learn to behave, you can be Director.” The title was the thing that made Krennic moan and press against Tarkins body. They were in the middle of a battlefield, the corpse of the enemy laying only a few feet away from then. This time, Krennic kissed him, his hands closing around the back of Tarkin’s neck to pull them closer. Their teeth crashed together, but Krennic didn’t mind much apparently, opting to press his tongue against Tarkin’s instead. Something in Tarkin already knew that Callan Krennic would _never_ learn. Right now, just kissing him deeply was enough of an encouragement to try and teach him anyways.

“Can you say that again?”, Krennic begged breathlessly, taking Tarkin’s lower lip between his teeth. They kissed once more.

“That I’ll make you my little pet?”

“The other one”, Krennic whined.

“I’ll make you Director”, Tarkin repeated.

“Yes. Thank you, Governor!” There was a hint of mischief in Krennic’s eyes and using Tarkin’s title at this point felt odd, but Tarkin was also rather sure Krennic got off on using formal titles. There was another kiss with more tongue than necessary, however Tarkin loved every second of it. He didn’t stop when the Troops finally found them, holding Krennic in place while kissing him without a care in the world in a calculated display of dominance. His cheeks were pink in embarrassment again when they parted, but he didn’t seem to mind the onlookers too much, judging from his shallow breathing.

“Bomb this. There was a force-user here, we will play it safe. Krennic, go with them. And take her head with you. I want to keep it”, he ordered as he stepped away from his new toy. The Troops saluted him and escorted Krennic – who picked up the Togruta’s head with a look of utter disgust – while Tarkin stayed behind.

He had some research to do, he reckoned. Whoever this woman had been, where she had come from, there would be more.

_I’ll visit you. Be ready for me, I keep my promises, Callan. Also, wear that robe. I like it_ , he let Krennic know through the force, knowing that he would be scared shitless when hearing another voice in his head.

Well, he had been scared of Tarkin when they kissed as well. And this time, Tarkin didn’t know why, nor had he intended to frighten the little Commander. Maybe, just maybe, in the end, he didn’t understand Krennic yet at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the trash bin
> 
> Also hello to you two, you know I'm talking to you


End file.
